The Witness
by The-Phanatics
Summary: When an ace reporter is sent to solve the mystery behind the Phantom of the Opera, she is at a point where this adventure will make her the most famous reporter of all Paris...or will it kill her? R&R bookmovie
1. Chapter 1

Not in the position of ever owning Phantom of the Opera. But we do own Giselle Leroux, the supposed witness to the Story of the Phantom.

The Witness

By: The Phanatics

Have you ever read the story of _The Phantom of the Opera? _Have you ever known of its origins besides of what the Persian had left behind and of how I even found the story? Well, there was a true witness to the story of this infamous 'ghost'. Who am I? I am Giselle Leroux, sister of the author, Gaston Leroux. How was I the witness? I was an ace reporter in the _L' Echo de Paris _along with my brother before he took the course in his writing career. When he was thinking of a story to write about may be ten years ago, I was on my way to Paris yet again for a story and while I readied on the night of 1901, I remember him asking me, "If I find a good story for the paper, why not help me find a story that I can write?" Think that he was simply joking, I laughed, saying, "Dearest Gaston, I doubt that there is anything interesting about the story that I'm going to Paris for." He knew what I was going for though: I was going to investigate the Opera House there to find clues about there being a supposed 'Opera Ghost' there and to see whether it was true or merely a joke caused by adolescents. When I first took the job, I had no clue that I was in for the most threatening story of my career…or life for this matter.

I had traveled to the city many a times to get the stories that made me famous, but this time, my brother was given the credit to have the story come out. Yes, most of what happened in the story was true…but he left so many of the events out and placed in the thoughts of his mind that he thought would make the story…more of a mystery that was really just a deadly triangle. And as I look at those notes, I feel like the ambitious twenty one year old reporter I used to be before the story that nearly killed me. Mt adventure started for me when I was entering Paris for the millionth time and I was eager to start, but I first had to see the new managers, M. Firman and M. Andre. They were quite nerve reeking, as I remember and they were just so…frightening if you could say so yourself. Andre was a short skinny man with grey hair as was Firman with his grey hair only he was slightly taller than his co-manager. "Understand that this is quite a dangerous task that you are taking on, you do know that Mademoiselle?" asked Firman as he puffed on a ghastly cigarette. I rolled my eye; after hearing something like 'this is a dangerous task that you are taking on,' it gets quite annoying and you know that it is just something more than it's made out to be. Back then, I thought that it was alright to pretend to listen and such and then take the fame and glory of discovering the truth and facts of an old legend. Was I such a naïve child back then? As I had my room showed to me by Madame Giry, I had felt a strange sense of someone watching me. And when one gets those feelings, that means to keep up you're guard…who knows what could happen? And speaking of that…I had never expected to meet Joseph Buqeut, one of the stage managers of the Opera House. He was burly, a drunk and quite the whore monger that he was just from one look in this thirsty dark eyes.

"This is the new dancer?" he asked as he tried to touch my black hair with his greasy hand. Luckily for me, it was smacked away by Madame Giry, bless her heart. "She is one Ma'am Giselle Leroux, ace reporter of the _L' Echo de Paris _she is just here to and I repeat, to find out the mystery of our Ghost." He looked at me with his empty, yet again I say, thirsty eyes. They seemed to have had a mind of their own and that was what truly terrified me about this man; that he would try and take advantage of me if I was asleep or anything for that matter. "I should warn you," he said to me, "He has a magical lasso that he uses to harm the ballet tarts around here." He then held me to the wall with his strong hands and whispered deadly into my ear, "And if he doesn't get you first, my sweet…I'll be sure to have you understand what it will be like with me." He tried to place his slimly lips against mine, had Madame Giry not been there to smack him away from me, I would've been raped by this…monster, I smacked him across the face after that. This was the last time I had ever seen him before I found him hanging with the 'magical lasso around his neck. I could only feel bad that he was killed that cold heartedly, but then again, he did try to rape me so there wasn't much that I could have done anyway. As the coroner took the body away that night, I started my work with the title: _Is it the Ghost? _It had chimed in my head as the perfect title, and as a writer, I have to write what comes to my mind quickly when it comes to my job or otherwise in the next hour I forget what I wanted to write or call it.

That night, as I sat in my room, writing my thoughts down in my journal, I heard a voice coming from the other room, saying, 'Christine you must love me,' I looked through the peep hole in my wall that I had discovered earlier in the evening and took a look through the hole. There, I saw a beautiful girl with blonde hair who looked about two years younger than me. It had occurred to me that she had played 'Margarita' in that night's showing of _Foust._ But the voice, I was sure that it was a man's, had no body, it was as if there was a real life ghost inside the room, and I felt the fear well up inside me. I grabbed my journal and had written down the entire conversation, from the time I had heard it, to the time that the Vicomte Raoul de Changy had barged in, but there wasn't a soul there. That night, I tried to fall asleep, but as I did, I kept hearing voices. It was only one in the morning when I woke up and saw the most terrifying sight of my life: a pair of yellow eyes that had the word death written all over them. At first I tried to stare them down as I had done in the past many times with my brother, but they had won in the end and I knew that they were the eyes of the Ghost and I screamed my head off and turned on my gas lamp as quickly as I could only to find the eyes gone. The only thing that was left was a note with a wax skull as red as blood. I picked it up with fear quivering in my soul and thought it was a joke until I read its content:

_Dear Mademoiselle Leroux,_

_In such events as to your arrival at my Opera, I have noticed you to be a reporter looking for answers about me, The Opera Ghost. I must have you know that there are some rules as to dwell here and such and one would be not to go looking for answers as to what I am and where I am at these times such as night. If you are guessing who killed the stage hand, Joseph Buqeut, you have been correct all along like La Sorelli, little Jammes, and young Meg Giry. But the death of him was merely just a warning…to you. If you had seen tonight's show, you must've met Ms. Christine Daae, daughter of the Swedish violinist. Indeed she made the angels of Heaven at sorrow for her voice was more divine than that of an angel._

_As to this, I had noticed that you, Mademoiselle, were eves dropping on my private conversation with Ms. Daae and ask you not to make an attempt to look through that peep hole of yours again at all, savvy? The last person who had dared to invade on my affairs with Christine Daae had almost suffered quite painfully, that person being La Carlotta. If you make an attempt to interfere with me and Ms. Daae again, Mademoiselle Leroux, there will be a disaster beyond your imagination that could end you. I hope you do understand these terms, for it would be a shame of me to harm a young woman like yourself that has the potential of a writer. I bid you good evening._

_Signed,_

'_O.G' _

With the letter clenched in my fist, I ran to my closet tore to retrieve my dagger. For the rest of the night, I had the dagger in my hand, waiting to pounce on the owner of the yellow eyes.

A/N: We hope you like this chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

Not in the position of ever owning Phantom of the Opera. But we do own Giselle Leroux, the supposed witness to the Story of the Phantom.

Chapter 2

The day came to me as I forced my self out of bed, waiting for breakfast as I dressed. The dagger that I had held the night before was placed in my garter and hidden under my skirts. I fixed my hair into its regular bun and was startled by a knock. I reluctantly turned around, my hand by the dagger only to find the young girl from the night before. She was holding a tray for me, which contained an egg with toast and a crepe. I looked at her closely and managed to squeak out a thank you to her. "Are you Giselle Leroux?" she asked as I continued to place pins in my hair. "Indeed," I replied as I sipped my water and such. "Pardon my questions, but I was just wondering why you are here?" she seemed derogatory when she said it and her head seemed to cock as she looked at me. "I am here on official business to find out answers to the Opera Ghost." I was starting to detest the girl just because of her questions. "But why Ms. Daae I suppose," I remarked with my green eyes starting to burn with hatred for the girl, though it was just one question, "do you wish to understand of my job?" The girl seemed to have been hiding something, for she had backed down when I asked, "Who were you talking to last night?" She looked away, fearing that I might know something. She left in quite a hurry. But back then, I was used to things like integrating people. I sadly say that I later came to regret it. The morning continued to go on with piece….until the little ballet tarts started to run into my room, with La Sorelli leading the way. They ran to my dresser, quivering with fear. "What is wrong?" I asked with as much patience as I could force out for they were getting far beyond my last nerve. "What is your business here, Sorelli?" I asked as I opened the door for the brats to leave. Little Giry looked at me and said, "She isn't one to be trifled with,"

"We'll see about that," Sorelli looked as if she was about to meet her match when it came to the matters of the Opera Ghost. "Well?" I asked with pure impatience. She didn't look at me for about a moment, and then with her eyes flashing defiance toward me, she barked, "We had an encounter with the Ghost!" I rolled my eyes with laughter and said, "Do you really think the 'Ghost' actually exists?"

"That's what the last skeptic person said before they were killed," she smirked at me and made her way out of the door. "And be careful, you never know who might pull a dagger on you." I looked at her and lifted my skirts to show her my blade. "I guess that person will have to reason with me," Her eyes were shot with cold fear as she ran out of the room with despair. I used to love scaring the ballet brats like that. And at nearly every other show, it was like a child in a sweets store; doing what you want and getting off loose for it. That's what I thought of my job back then. Back then I was naïve about the whole situation.

As the day strolled on, I looked for clues with my note pad and such to see what could be found for tonight's showing of _Faust _(small typo in Chapter 1) and such with this whole adventure. The Opera Ghost _had _to show up tonight, or otherwise what was the point on wasting my time with all those ballerinas and the future Prima Donna, Christine Daae along with their imaginations? I felt the strange feeling of being watched again as I wrote down in my note book, _'I am in the Paris Opera House at 12 in the afternoon, looking for some clues. So far in my studying here I have discovered only a strange voice coming from the dressing room of Mademoiselle Christine Daae. To be specific, the voice sounded masculine and had no body what so ever. This morning, the ballerinas were talking of the death of Joseph Bartholomew Buqeut, whose life had ended the night before by the 'Ghost's Magical Lasso'. Later in the evening, as I had readied for bed, I found what had seemed to be a pair of yellow eyes looking straight at me. They seemed to have burn like the fires of Hell. They disappeared, however, when I turned my lamp on to see the room as it was when I first got here, but I then discovered a note with a blood red wax skull on it as what served to be the seal. It was apparently a warning to me that I was to stay out of the business of who ever was speaking to Ms. Daae as it had said in the end**; for it would be a shame of me to harm a young woman like yourself that has the potential of a writer**. I then resided for the rest of the night with a dagger in my hand for protection.'_

Was this all just a joke? I was soon to find out when the lights were turned off for a moment, flicked back on, and there was once again, a note with my name on it this time, I just placed it in my pocket, for I would need it later on for my story. This mystery had it twists and turns and such as many do but the letters that were sent to me back then, were simply just warning and such. As I sat in box five for that night's performance, I noticed a black figure by the chandelier and I knew something was to happen, but I just didn't know what. As Carlotta, with her voice the sound of a million crows with laryngitis, sang the final part of her solo in the finale, she started to crock. Yes, like a toad I mean. And as she continued, I noticed that the chandelier moved down more until I realized that it was falling. I shook with fear and ran to my room with shock, and a pretty damn good story if I say so my self. It was all over the papers the next day of the tragic death of the Spanish Opera Singer, La Carlotta. I had written death reports for the _L' Echo de Paris _but my information was given to me by just witnesses. This one was written from my heart for I felt sorry for the infamous singer and her short temper. Look where it led her now: Hell.

If thing couldn't have gotten worse, they did. For the yellow eyes that screamed 'death' were returning to a point where I either stayed up with the light on all night, or slept with the light on. And whatever this person or 'phantom' had against me, he or who ever was sure to get over it right now right; wrong! The next thing that happened was that the prized horse, Caesar, had gone missing. I remembered that horse quite well; he was full of grace and potential. Muscular for a stallion, peaceful black eyes, and was white. I loved that horse for some odd reason…probably because it reminded me of my self-strong and independent. Of course I would see him again may be I thought if they found him instead of complaining where they were to find another horse like him. My note pad was getting filled with more stories, but how were they connected to this 'Ghost' I would ask my self often. Once again I was left with confusion of where was I to go from the stories I had gathered. Would this be the end of my job as a reporter and would I have to fall to the life of prostitution to survive? Only one person could provide me with some of the subtle answers and that person-or those people-was Madame Giry and Christine Daae!

A/N: Sorry if it was short but if you have an idea of what should happen, let us know.


	3. Chapter 3

Not in the position of ever owning Phantom of the Opera. But we do own Giselle Leroux, the supposed witness to the Story of the Phantom.

Chapter 3

If I thought thing wouldn't get worse by my time there, I was sure as hell fooled. I was on my way a few days later after the chandelier incident and hoping to see if our friend, Ms. Daae, would say a few words to the paper. Unfortunately, she was out somewhere with the Vicomte de Changy to visit her father or something. Now as you could tell, I was far from annoyed by then. With the lack of sleep I had gotten from the most particular dreams I had ever experienced as a writer along with the strange yellow eyes, I wasn't sure if the Ghost was actually a 'Ghost' anymore. If it was a man perhaps I could try to pounce on the owner of the eyes like I had wanted to do a few nights ago. There was only one person left to interview for this story: Madam Jules Giry. And she being the caretaker and such of the seats (like box 5 for this matter) I knew that since box 5 was supposedly the seat where the ghost sat, she must've known something. I sat in box 5 that evening, waiting for her, along with a strong cup of coffee in my hands for I knew that this would be a long and tiring night. Madam Giry entered wearing a large feathered hat, a tattered old shawl, and an old brown dress to match the worn shoes she wore. But this woman was dear to me my first day and such, so I had to be kind to her as best as my job would let me. "Madam Giry," I greeted with warmth, "it is a pleasure to see you again after all these weeks."

"Indeed," she smiled with her old thin lips, "but the new managers have gone mad!"

"Why do you think that?" I asked as I took out my note pad, jotting down the interview. And on this page, there is actually the original copy of the notes I took from my interview that night with Madam Giry.

_Wednesday, January 12th, 1901_

_Interview with Madam Jules Giry_

_Giselle: …it is a pleasure to see you after all these weeks._

_Mam. Giry: Indeed. But the new managers have gone mad!_

_Giselle: Why do you think that?_

_Mam. Giry: They believe I have something to do with the Ghost. I have never even seen him. For that only a few hours ago, they had a gendarme interview me about box 5 and such. I needn't go on with saying that they had also accused me of stealing fifty francs, when I just found it in box 5._

_Giselle: People seem to be weary about that certain section of the auditorium. Why is that?_

_Mam. Giry: It is where the Ghost resides when there is an opera performing. I never see him though. It's just a voice-_

_Giselle: Without a body?_

_Mam. Giry: Yes, child. He once had another voice with him, promising something for me and my little Meg. He promised us that Meg would have power and glory-her name known through out the world!_

_Giselle: Is that all?_

_Mam. Giry: Far from all, he leaves me about fifty francs to make sure that no one ever sets foot in it. But I was given specific orders_ _to have you reside in box 5 for the first night's showing of **Faust. **For my little Meg to have a bright future, I would do anything for her happiness, mademoiselle!_

_Giselle: Calm down. I just want to know of his whereabouts.\_

_Mam. Giry: I haven't a clue of where he lives. Some truly believe that he or it is a ghost. Joseph Buqeut, however, said 'Light yellow parchment is his skin. A great black hole serves as the nose that…never grew. You must be always on your guard-or he will catch you with his magical lasso.' Of course we all laughed at him with his silly stories. He was like an immature drunk child who couldn't find the love of a woman. Just someone who wanted to be loved._

_Giselle: Very…touching. But what does this have to do with the Ghost?_

_Mam. Giry: Simple-Joseph Buqeut had witnessed him kill a young woman the night of the very first performance he worked for._

_Giselle: And his wife was…_

_Mam. Giry: Amelia Luisa Rosita Moncharmin da Venice._

_Giselle: Firman's niece? _

_Mam. Giry: Yes. She was only twenty one when she had an affair with this…man…or such and the man was killed and she tired to fight back, but the Ghost had killed her for she had seen too much for the sake of the Ghost's survival._

_Giselle: So that's why Buqeut was the way he was? Was she a ballerina?_

_Mam. Giry: Yes. Form that day forth, he considered all beautiful women and all ballerinas' whores for what his wife had done to him and for what the Ghost took from him that was his._

_Giselle: But why again do you mention this now?_

_Mam. Giry: Not all secrets can remain secrets forever._

_Giselle: Then what do they become?_

_Mam. Giry: They become either legends or the truth comes out. That is why we have ace reporters like you no?_

_Giselle: I guess…thank you for you're time Madam Giry._

The moment the woman left the room, I locked the door, hid my note book, got ready for bed, had my dagger in my hand, for tonight was the night I would settle my matter with the yellow eyes once and for all. As I washed up I looked at myself in the mirror; my hair was losing its luster and shine. My eyes were darker than usual-almost black because of the dark circles under my eyes. And from the lack of sleep, my features were skinny, pale, sickly and most unappealing for men to look at. Gaston will have a ball with this when I return home, I thought as I tried to fall into another restless sleep.

But this time, the eyes didn't appear to me for the first time in weeks. I slept well that night. But in the morning, there were three more notes and my hand had dried blood on it. I nearly fainted when I saw my dagger on the floor with my blood on it. Did he try to stab me, I asked my self as I tried to remain as calm as I could, but I jammed the other notes with my other eighty five notes- which was now eighty eight, La Sorelli ran into my room, crying "Christine Daae returned last night and now she's disappeared!" only then did things go black for me.

I woke up to a dimly lit room. It seemed so unfamiliar to me, and the ground was partially hard. I lifted my self up to see that I was still in my nightgown and the room was lit with candles. I saw the door and tried to open it, but a dark skinned hand had gently pulled me back and said, "You are safe here." I turned around to see a man in a turban and he seemed to be from the Middle East. Then, things went black for me. _Giselle….Giselle…_Why did my name sound so far away? I opened my eyes to see Firman, Andre, and a gendarme beside the bed I was resting on. "What happened?" I asked as I tried to lift my head up. But the pain was too real for me to handle. "You had fainted this morning. We found you by the stables…" I didn't wait for him to finish.

"It's true, it's true!" I cried with sweat rolling down my forehead, "The Opera Ghost is real; he left me notes then kidnapped me after La Sorelli told me Ms. Daae went missing."

"Clam down child," said Andre as he dabbed cold water upon my forehead, "it was only a dream, but what do you mean by notes?"

"I mean that the ghost was writing to me and I guess I never opened them to see what he had to say."

"I knew it," cried an agitated Firman, "this job was too dangerous for a young girl such as yourself, but the only reason I had hired you was because your boss said you were indeed the best, but we need _actual _reporters who do for the job and the sake of the innocent, not for fame and fortune. I'm afraid we'll have to ask you to leave."

No one had ever kicked me off from a job, and my job without a doubt the most important part of my natural life! "Please, Monsieur le Firman," I begged, "don't kick me off from this job, I haven't found the ghost yet, but I wish to continue to end this nightmare for you and your partner, please just give me another chance!" I nearly cried at the fact that my passion for writing for the paper was on the line. In the life of a reporter, there's only a few things you can do; never look at your boss in the eye, always get the story, and don't get fired. If I was kicked off from this job, the Opera Ghost would just win as always when it came to his Opera, and turning me crazy would do the trick in his eyes. They looked at me and after about an hour of whispers, (which I heard the whole of due to my talent of acting like you're asleep,) they came to the agreement of giving me one last chance to redeem myself. And they were only giving me thirty days to do so.

How could I finish my work in thirty days? A story like this usually takes months before you have to type it for the world. To get the information I need would take nearly five months because of all the stories about the Ghost I had gathered so far; they made no sense: how could a Ghost kill with a lasso if they can't hold the rope? And how was I going to find out. What was I to do? I then remembered the man in the turban who had caused me to faint again. Was he really the Ghost? No, little Jammes had told me that there was a man who wore a cloth wrapped around his head saying that he had told her all she had to know about this ghost. I then noticed a note without a seal, I mean yes it had a wax seal, but it looked more of from the Middle East than anything else. It had my name on it. I picked it up to read:

_To Mademoiselle Giselle Leroux_

_In my defense, I was just trying to make sure you were taken care of. If you remember, I had you hidden under the dressing room of Christine Daae for very dangerous reasons where you had to be put to safety. This Opera Ghost that you are searching for is a man. A very dangerous man that had his Punjab Lasso wrapped around your neck a while ago; he was planning to kill you if you had thought correct. Had I not been there, you would have died the same way as Joseph Buqeut (rest his soul.) I am here to warn you that you must leave the Opera while you still can and let it remain a mystery to all. For this is a dangerous task that you have taken on, and in such of the events where the yellow eyes were spying on you as you slept were his. He has a name too; Erik. And to the reasons that he is here is my fault. He was to die in the country of Persia and I spared him if he had promised that his murdering days were at an end. I was mistaken. He has Christine Daae and I know where they are._

_Again I tell you, I know where they are. But it's risky for you as it is for me. He was known in Persia as the 'Master of Trap Doors.' He has traps everywhere that is only up when he is at his daily haunting. Those traps are dangerous. The traps he has for intruders are far beyond of what you could ever imagine. As we all know, you are the well known ace reporter here to unravel the mystery of the infamous Phantom of the Opera, correct? The reason you sat in box 5 the first night of **Faust**? He thought you were here to review the show until he saw you retire that night with a note pad, writing a letter to your employer, explaining the show and that this story would be in the papers within a few months. It angered him so when he read it as you slept that night, which is the reason why you saw the eyes: he was reading your notes too. _

_It is true. The death of one Joseph Bartholomew Buqeut was a mere warning to you. He is threatened by you. And if I know Erik well enough, I know that he will stop at nothing to be rid of you and you're writing….even if it means to kill you. The risks you have to take, for I have read the numerous articles you had written for the paper and I am one to be quite amazed at how far you've gone in your career. The raw adventures you've had however, were dangerous with being lost in the wild and the mountains…you've survived the wilderness, but can you survive a dangerous man? Meet me at twelve o'clock tonight in Ms. Daae's dressing room. And be weary, for night is his favorite time to lurk about. I bid you good evening._

_Sincerely,_

_Nadir Khan_

_P.S. Don't forget the following: Your notebook and your dagger._

I looked up from the letter. Whoever this 'Nadir' was seemed to be willing to help me. And now, with Christine Daae missing, I was going to need as much help as I could get. I knew that wherever we were going would be rough, so I returned to my room to retrieve my best disguise: men's clothes. Of course I had them tailored to fit me before I wore them and they were quite comfortable, actually. I took out a hat also and stuffed my hair to make my self look like someone else. Just like always, I thought with a smile when I tried on my boots. I then placed my dagger inside my boot and headed to the room of Ms. Daae. I sat down by the mirror and looked at my self. I looked like my brother when he was fifteen, skinny, lanky, and weak. The thoughts of my brother gave me comfort as I dozed off into a peaceful sleep.

A/N: What will happen next? Only time will tell.


	4. Chapter 4

Not in the position of ever owning Phantom of the Opera. But we do own Giselle Leroux, the supposed witness to the Story of the Phantom and partially the plot.

Chapter 4

It was around one in the morning when I felt a hand shake me as I woke up. I looked up to see a lantern and the owner: he had on a turban, Persian robes, and he seemed quite kind in his eyes, yet stern. "A-ar-are you Nadir Khan, the one who sent me the letter," I asked with anticipation. He shook his head. "I am," he replied, "you must be Giselle Leroux?"

"Yes, sir; you say you know the location of one Ms. Christine Daae?" He didn't say much to me, but shook his head in remark to my question. I took out my note pad, ready to take my notes on this strange man. He gently pulled down the notebook, explaining to me, "Don't take too many notes; I wish to not be a part of the story in the papers. I looked at him with a confused look; why wouldn't he want to stop this…this…psychopath? But I respected him only for the subtly of the matters that I was about to understand after all this time being here. I adjusted my hat, saying, "Where is he?" Nadir walked to the mirror, pointing to it. "How can he be in the mirror?" I asked as I wrote a little note down (which was the start of my will incase I didn't make it out alive.) I was confused, how could a man live in a mirror? He didn't say a word as he revealed to me that the 'mirror' was really a door that was also a one way mirror. There was a tunnel on the other side of the door. The cold breeze from the night brought chills down my back as I watch Nadir take a match out and light a torch for me. He led the way with his lantern as we made our way down the tunnel.

The thoughts of the last few weeks brought back the memories of the yellow eyes. That's what scared me the most. Those yellow eyes, and the reason why I would have an ugly scar on my hand, he had tried to kill me and I knew it from the bloody start. Was he watching us and if he was, would we end up like poor Joseph Buqeut, the grimy stage hand? Well, there was only one way to find out, and that was to follow this strange man and understand the person that was the Opera Ghost and Erik. There were then the very questions that I hadn't thought of until now: Where did this Erik come from? Did he have a family or a lover? And what was his connection to the young Christine Daae? I had so much to learn about this man. We were about five feet under the ground when I heard foot steps. I looked around and Nadir, whose guard was up. Our backs were against each others as he whispered to me; "Keep your hand at the level of your eyes." I did as he said and saved the questions for later…if there was to be a later. My dagger was in my hands; ready to kill whoever was after us. There was then a familiar noise that brought a childish smile to my face in this dark world that was the Opera Ghosts. "Caesar!" I whispered as I hugged the majestic horse for the first time in weeks. Nadir petted the horse gently and whispered, "We must continue on our way to Ms. Daae," I was reluctant to leave the horse by itself, so with all the strength I had that wasn't drained by fear, I mounted onto Caesar and whispered back to him, "I'm not continuing without the horse." For some reason of what ever, he knew I felt safer with the horse and agreed to let the horse continue on our trek.

The lantern was growing weaker and I knew that if we didn't relight our only source of light now, we would be forever lost in the darkness of the underground. I clung tight to Caesar's neck; it was my only source of comfort. The darkness was getting more vivid as I tried to remember the way things were when Gaston was my partner. We had gone on many adventures together as brother and sister, being that we were the best. When he wanted to become a writer, it broke my heart to bits and I thought I couldn't do it on my own. "We're almost there," replied Nadir as he pointed to noise; it sounded to me like running water. Where was it coming from? I didn't ask until I saw it: the lake. I saw the boat and beyond was a little house, which looked quite cozy. I gently slid off Caesar and was about to sit in the boat until Nadir abruptly stopped me from taking the rows. "May be I should go," he whispered as quietly as he could, "Erik isn't the most generous man to outsiders." I nodded in agreement and left him to his work. I ran behind a boulder and with as little advantage of light I had, started to write down what had happened. He rowed in the tiny wooden row boat and I looked on with fear in my eyes for I had a strange exhilaration that something bad was to happen next. There was this beautiful sound that came from the bowels of the lake. I wrote down every single event that had happened through out that time.

Then, a pair of hands came up and started to strangle Nadir. I wanted to try but he had told me to stay away from the lake and I knew the reason why now; he was under water, trying to drown poor Nadir. All was quiet then. I moved to a position where I could see what was going on. There was a dark figure that dragged him out and seemed quite annoyed with Nadir. It was about twenty minutes until Nadir came to. "You are starting to annoy me Daroga," said a voice that sounded beautiful and dangerous at the same time. Nadir didn't seem to fear him. "Erik, you beast, where is Ms. Daae?" I finally saw a full view of Erik; he seemed to me like a skeleton in dinner dress, with a mask on. Even though I was about three yards away, I could smell the essence of death. I wrote down my notes and did my best not to scream as the conversation continued. "I saved you're life," boomed Nadir, "if it weren't for my pity for you, you would've been destroyed in Persia."

"What do you take me for, you silly ass? I have told you to stay out of my affairs or you would be one less human to live in the world. Yes, I admit you 'saved' me, but you still interfere with my business. Inadequately, I should've finished you off long before. But, I have one question…"

"If you're talking about one Mademoiselle Giselle Leroux, she is still here."

"Why is the brat still here?"

"I'm not one to ruin another's career, but that is beside the point: the point is you promised me long ago, that you would commit no more murders."

The bastard chuckled gleefully as a child would at Christmas. "Are they murders, or simply accidents?"

"Don't lie to me, Erik, I know you better than anyone else in this country."

"Dear Daroga, simply state to me by what you mean?"

"I know about the death of Joseph Buqeut."

"So does that meddling reporter."

"Erik, she has nothing to do with this."

Erik's eyes then shot out at him. "You listen you silly ass, there is a reason why Andre and Firman had hired her, to expose me and I refuse to have the gendarmes come after me in my theatre. And as for my affairs with Christine, they aren't of your concern. For she does love me and there is a masked ball coming soon. She will be there with me. You'll see we will be married soon." He then left Nadir on the shore and returned to his lake house. What I had told you was only a portion of the conversation Nadir had with Erik. The rest of the conversation lies within his _Memoirs. _I ran to help my ally and hoisted him up with all the strength I had. "Do you hate him?" I asked. "No," remarked Nadir as he stood up all sopping wet, "if I did, he would've been destroyed long ago."

I felt it best not to ask him of the Ghost's past and simply just helped him back to his apartment on the Rue de Ravioli.

As we continued our journey, I asked, "What is his detestation against you?" Nadir didn't answer; he simply closed his eyes as if to forget the past. And personally, I have to say that if I was associated with a man or monster, I would try to forget the past the best way I could- even if it meant forcing amnesia upon myself (A/N: Ok, for those who don't know what 'amnesia' is, is just a memory disorder when it causes you to forget who you are. Don't bash us if our definition is wrong.) We silently continued our journey to his apartment as I thought of the conversation they had. They were going to a mask ball, him and Christine? Well, I just hoped that they wouldn't mind if I visited the party for a bit. When we arrived at Nadir's home, I gently helped him out of his coat and had his servant, Darius, make us a cup of tea. I sat down by his couch as he told me of the rosy hours of the Mazenderan. Erik was apparently the entertainer for the royal family of Persia. Just to entertain people by torturing them made me sick with fear and anxiety. But on the other hand, it gave me more information of the beast. But we still hadn't retrieved young Christine and there was the problem. They had gone to Perros, said the Vicomte to me, when I had asked of his whereabouts a few days back. He had told me that they had gotten into a fight over the 'Angel of Music'. Around midnight, through the window of his hotel room, he saw her walk to the cemetery where 'Daddy' Daae was buried. I assumed that he knew Daae some how an asked him questions of how he was acquainted with Christine. 'I was only a child of six or so…my governess and I were walking about the beach when I saw this…ravishing …young girl whom was crying out for her scarf. She was about my age. Being the strapping young boy I was, I rushed into the (freezing) waters of the ocean and retrieved the girls scarf. I was repaid with a kiss on the cheek and that was how I was introduced to Ms. Daae. We were inseparable after that. Of course the last time I saw her in my youth was when I was bout twelve and… well, 'interested' in her as you could imagine. Until now, she has been changed. Especially after the night she preformed _Faust _as Margarita. She seemed like her should was being carried out by angels. Besides that, when we were in Perros, there was a…heavenly…. And quite unearthly sound coming form the violin of Daddy Daae, but no one was playing it… I knew she was probably upset with me when I told her someone might be fooling with her mind. And about as soon as I got there, the music stopped, Ms. Daae was gone and there was this…horrible…death's head. As you could imagine, there was a heavy amount of fear boiling inside of me as I tried to escape the figure. The next thing I knew, I was dodging skulls that were being thrown at me and I woke up the next morning outside my room, and Christine was there, safely and soundly asleep.' His story was indeed the most fearful thing I had ever heard. It had to be Erik and I knew that there was no point in doing anything just yet. I left Nadir to sleep, for I was tired and wished to retire to my bed…and to wear women's clothes again.

As I ventured down the dark Parisian streets at night, I had found a letter; complete drenched in mud. I picked up the object and in pencil, it said, _To be delivered to M. Vicomte Raoul de Changy._ Without a moment to lose, I rushed to the home of the Vicomte and knocked on the door desperately. A kindly maid found me, had me dried and fed. Along with that, she had the Vicomte personally come to me to speak. "Ah, Mademoiselle Leroux, how have you been?" I had no time for chit chant, so I simply handed the anonymous letter to him to read. About a minute or two later, he said, "She wants me to wear a white domino." I couldn't contain my laughter at the Vicomte's expense. "Well, I guess I'll be attending the ball with you. But since I'm not as kind as my brother, I will not dress in the attire you see me in now," I snorted gaily as I felt the humor of this press on.

I left the home of the Changy's with glee. I finally reached the Opera and retired to my room. There, on my bed, I found a note once again. I was far from being piqued and decided that the note will stayed sealed like the others. I was highly annoyed with the Ghost and I wouldn't be surprised if I went down there with both my revolver and my dagger. Suppressed by anger toward Erik I knew that he might return tonight with his blazing yellow eyes and I knew that I would be ready. I ran to my dresser to get my other weapon, my great grandfather's revolver form the French Revolution. I hid it beneath my pillow and fell into a restless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Not in the position of ever owning Phantom of the Opera. But we do own Giselle Leroux, the supposed witness to the Story of the Phantom and partially the plot.

Chapter 5

I pulled my hair into its usual bun the next morning, waiting for something to happen that would be of use to the Opera Ghost's origins. So far all I had was what he did in Persia and that wasn't enough on my turf. How would I know what to do if I couldn't figure out when the Ghost would strike next? Dear God, I thought I was going mad at this! No matter though, it was the night of the masked ball and I had to be there to accompany M. Vicomte de Changy. The thought of him having to wear a domino was just so…amusing. I had to go out to the city that day,(being my first time out of the Opera for pleasure,) to buy a costume that would prevent Erik from recognizing me as well as to have Ms. Daae not to confront me with her childish attitude again as she did in my room all those weeks ago. I walked about the streets of Paris, going to the best costume store where I usually had gotten all of my costumes. I found a purple domino, a blonde wig, a silver mask, and a scepter to give people the illusion for one night that I wasn't Giselle Leroux. And that was very precious in my mind for this was getting to be quite the annoyance I had gotten from the Phantom. I purchased my items and ran into my room, getting ready for tonight. As I placed my wig in as the final touch of my costume, I realized that I was to need my dagger. For incase in which events I would need to defend myself, I would have to go to the measure of manslaughter.

As I became one with the crowd during the ball, I found it hard to stay way from the burly men that were just like Joseph Buqeut: slimy, drunk pigs. I couldn't believe that I was at one of the most exceptional affair in my life. Though I had wished it was gayer and Bohemian in a way, I was grateful that I was there at all. I then spotted the Vicomte in his white domino and had to conceal my laughter in the most discreet way possible. I had to follow him; if it were to link me to Erik, this was bound to be a fruitful quest. I drank very little wine that night as I remember, in the event that I was only here for my story. My last chance was slowly giving out and I had to give as much information to the managers as I could for the meeting I had with them the next evening. If I got enough information for them, I would be able to continue my quest for the truth. I caught up with the Vicomte, who told me to call him by his first name, Raoul. I looked at him. He had sandy hair, dreamy eyes, and was well…love struck by the woman who caught his heart only a few weeks ago.

As he leaned against a door post, waiting for Christine, I asked him, "Do you know of who this man is?" He looked at me with kindness and told me plainly, "I haven't the slightest due to the lack of information I have been given at all in the past while. A black domino then passed and gave Raoul a quick squeeze on his fingers. "Is that you Christine?" he asked through his clenched teeth. She then made a look as too not mention her name again. I followed them, trying to understand what was going on. We followed her in silence. Once she turned back to see if we weren't lost. As we passed through the crush-room, there was a costume that I would never forget even after all these years. (A/N: This is from the book and it seemed appropriate.) It was a man dressed all in scarlet, with a huge hat and feathers on the top of a wonderful death's head. From his shoulders hung an immense red-velvet cloak, which trailed along the floor like a king's train; and on this cloak was embroidered, in gold letters, which every one read and repeated aloud, _"Don't touch me! I am Red Death stalking abroad!"_ Then one, greatly daring, did try to touch him...but a skeleton hand shot out of a crimson sleeve and violently seized the rash one's wrist; and he, feeling the clutch of the knucklebones, the furious grasp of Death, uttered a cry of pain and terror. When Red Death released him at last, he ran away like a very madman, pursued by the jeers of the bystanders. It was at this moment that Raoul passed in front of the funereal masquerader, who had just happened to turn in his direction. And he nearly exclaimed: "The death's head of Perros-Guirec!" He had recognized him!...He wanted to dart forward, forgetting Christine; but the black domino, who also seemed a prey to some strange excitement, caught him by the arm and dragged him from the crush-room, far from the mad crowd through which Red Death was stalking. I couldn't help but cringe at this sight. But I had gotten it down in my notes, and that was all that mattered to me.

The black domino kept on turning back and, apparently, on two occasions saw something that startled her, for she hurried her pace and Raoul's as though they were being pursued. They went about two stair cases up and I knew that I had to leave them. But my journalism instincts told me I had to write down their conversation. Again I show you the original note that I had taken of their conversation:

_February 2nd, 1901_

_Conversation between Raoul de Changy and Christine Daae_

_Christine: He must have gone up higher. He is coming down again!_

_After she screamed this, a red foot was walking down the steps. I run to hide in a small, dark corner, which is still useful in having this conversation written down._

_Raoul: It's he! This time, he shall not escape me…_

_Christine: Whom do you mean by 'he'? (Her voice has changed) Who shall not escape you?_

_The Vicomte is getting angrier by the second and is about to 'let his feelings' out. I sit here alone on this trek of my career and see what is to happen. There I saw it – the Red Death in his deadly glory. I hid myself the best could, trying not to breathe at all. I felt death pour over me as I nearly fainted from this sight of him. Go away, I thought. But I had to get back to the conversation with the Vicomte and Ms. Daae. _

_Christine: If you love me Raoul, you won't ever talk to me again._

_Raoul: Oh mad Christine, mad! _

_I haven't been able to catch the rest of their conversation and I held my breath until the Red Death man left. I knew it was Erik immediately and thought I would just die…slowly and painfully. I got up just in time for Raoul to leave and I followed him. Christine looked at him with sad eyes and I could do nothing. Love isn't a part of my job so therefore had declined to do nothing I left the party alone and sad for the young girl I had sworn to loath for all eternity._

They didn't know the fear I was about to experience until later that night. I was heading for my dressing room and as I slipped out of my costume and into my night gown, the wind blew out all the lit candles in the room. I felt the undying fear well up inside of me and I felt like I needed to throw up. I grabbed my rosary and prayed to the Holy Family for help and guidance in all of this. I saw the yellow eyes emerge to me once more out of no where. Having my dagger ready, I lunged toward the monster only to feel the blood coming to me. Only it wasn't his blood….it was my blood. The Ghost had a firm grip on my arms and refused to free. I then did the only thing I could do…no matter how childish it was. "HELP, HELP, HELP, HELP ME!!!!!" I cried with all the strength I had. For a living corpse, he was stronger than any mortal man. Then, darkness came about me and I couldn't remember what happened.

The next morning, I was found outside of my room. There was dried blood all over my hands and I saw my dagger, inside the key hole. I smelled like death. It took me as I remember about twenty baths to get rid of the smell. I was in my corset and slip, so I didn't slip into my nightgown last night. My hair was tangled as if I had just been assaulted. And the truth of the matter was…I had been assaulted by the Opera Ghost. "Good God," cried a voice. I turned to see the Count Philippe de Changy. He was indeed handsome, with his pale blue eyes, his brown hair, and the fact that he was loving to his family always founded me blushing at his sight or the very thought of him. I then started to cry, for I felt like a fool in front of the man that I only recently found out I loved him. (A/N: C'mon, Giselle has to have a love interest right?) He helped me up and said, "I won't tell a soul _mon cherie_,"

"Thank you," I said between tears. Before we get back to our story, I should explain my feelings for the Count. I met him the second night of _Faust _and we just got along so greatly that he offered to take me out to dine with him. I did enjoy it as if he was the one for me. I guess you could say we were sweet hearts; he called me 'Beautiful Soul' for he thought I was beautiful in many ways. But how could he love such a lower class person. I always get into trouble and I was kind of clumsy when it came to a lot of things. He didn't care, he just wanted me to be with him for me and not for the fact that I was the reporter out to find out the mystery that was 'The Phantom of the Opera'. But back to our story now…

Philippe helped me to my feet and gently kissed me on the lips. This was my very first real kiss. I mean yes, I have been kissed before, but never with so much caring and love. In my room the kiss deepened, but I had promised to the church to remain pure until marriage. But he merely just looked at me and said, "I would never force you, Mademoiselle Leroux."

"Call me Giselle."

"Alright…Giselle," he then left me to tend to myself for I was shaky from the night before. As I bathed in my tub, the water scared me. All that blood was my blood and the water was turning red. Just the thought of it made me sick to my stomach. After I was cleaned and dressed. I was called to see La Sorelli. There she was when I got there to her room. She was in a simple grey and brown traveling outfit and her numerous amounts of suit cases we packed and ready to go. "Are you going on vacation?" Her sad brown eyes looked at me and she said, "I'm leaving. The Ghost has frightened me away for good. I can't work here and fear for my life anymore, Leroux; you on the other hand are stupid for trying to find out the whereabouts of the Opera Ghost. If anything you just want to be killed. I'm surprised Little Jammes isn't fleeing like I am. I was the Prima Ballerina, but now that I saw the events of last night, I fear for me. And I don't know what you did to anger him, but I should warn you, he has killed before, and he could do it again. Just remember that, Giselle Leroux." She then motioned me to leave her. That was the last time I ever saw her. She was nothing but dead to the Opera after that. I walked down to the hallways, and since it was a rainy day, well….I should say that the hallways were darker than usual. I stepped toward my room to only find it unlocked. I ran in to find my room all torn apart and for lack of a better word, vandalized. (A/N: This for all of those who like _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_) I walked to my bed to find my dagger as well as my revolver gone. Then I heard a small scream from the door and I had happened upon to find little Meg Giry at the door way with her group of ballet brats her black hair in a ponytail and her pale finger pointing to the northern wall of the room.

I turned my head around and felt like I needed to throw up. On the wall was a message, _Beware the Opera Ghost for he will chose the next one to die…_and to our displeasure…mostly to mine, the message was written in blood – my blood! How did I know? It was as fresh as it was the night before and since he was a 'Ghost' he hadn't the need for blood. But as of reason, he was a man as Nadir Khan had told me. But what kind of man would use his own blood to write a message of death. I ran at that moment, looking for Madame Giry, in hopes of comfort. But Madame Giry had business to attend to that day, so here I was, alone. But then I remembered Christine and decided to speak with her. I ran to the managers to know of her whereabouts and if they would kindly tell me where it was located. I therefore was on to take the journey to Mama Valerius' abode.

A/N: Well, her it is, chapter 5. We kinda suffering from writers block and need ideas.


	6. Chapter 6

Not in the position of ever owning Phantom of the Opera. But we do own Giselle Leroux, the supposed witness to the Story of the Phantom and partially the plot.

Chapter 6

Mama Valerius' abode was somewhat…charming. Though it wasn't like the apartment I shared with my brother it was…adequate. Plan simple but it just wasn't like my home with Gaston and the others. I knocked on the door with hopes that the guardian of Christine Daae was home today and not at the market or somewhere in the city. It is pretty large after all with its building and landmarks. But beside the point, the kindly woman answered the door. Knowing who I was, she nearly fainted that the famous journalist, Giselle Leroux was on her doorstep. "Please Mademoiselle Leroux," she said kindly, "come in for some tea."

"Thank you," I said walking inside. Indeed as I said before, it was charming. Christine, as I remember from that day, was sitting in an over stuffed easy chair, reading what looked to be _Genesis_ in the Old Testament. She looked so peaceful…for an arrogant ballet brat who was completely stubborn most of the time. And to think that I had tried to save her before the masquerade! She just left a boiling feeling in my blood every time I saw her. She looked up and stared at me with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Your 'Mother' invited me here for tea and I have a few questions to ask you, since my job is on the line, if you don't mind Miss Daae." Hard to believe that Valerius had to put up with her since her father died, I felt so bad for that woman. She poured me some tea into what seemed to be a piece of china that would have been lovely indeed, if it didn't have the numerous of chips on the sides. She had homemade pastries ready for me too…as if she was expecting me to arrive. "Madame Valerius," I stated, "do happen to know a few things of the Angel of Music?" The old crone looked at me as if I was a psychic. "How do you know of the Angel of Music?"

I sighed, "Madame Valerius, as my post in the _L' Echo de Paris_, I cannot tell you of my sources until it is printed in the papers. And I have to say that this 'Angel' if you say so is only fooling your 'daughter' if I do say so myself."

"The Angel is real," replied Valerius "He has been prayed for in the last eighteen years and finally now, he hath come to her for the first time ever in three months, to bring her voice back. And yet I see you trying to say that the Angel is a fake?"

"I can assure you, Madame that I believe in the Angel of Music." Yes it was a lie, but I was desperate to quiet the old crone. "I just believe that this person is…well, you could say an imposter."

Christine, who looked as if she wanted to tear my head off at that very moment, shrieked out only then "HOW DARE YOU QUESTION THE ANGEL OF MUSIC?! He has been my only wish for eleven years! And yet I see you, the nosy reporter who thinks she knows everything there is to know!"

"I know of Erik child! And for you to say that to my face is just disrespectful! Not to mention selfish! If I wanted to at my power I could write to my employer and say that the infamous Phantom of the Opera has corrupted the mind of a brainless young girl who clearly has been the creation of a gaggle of toddlers! And don't you ever think that I couldn't do that! And just from hearing what you said about me to my face, clearly states that you know nothing about me! You are just a selfish little twit!" Her face became stone cold after that out burst. "Would you really write that?" she whimpered. I almost felt sorry for her. I sighed heavily. "No, but it would be gracious of you to learn about me before you judge me."

"Then if I do that, you must promise me something."

"Like what?"

"Forget that name!"

"How can I forget the owner of those eyes?"

"Just forget that name. And leave the Opera while you still can."

"It's too late. My job has only another few weeks or otherwise they'll get another amateur journalist and I'll be ruined!"

"You forget that name then!" She was crazy. Almost as if she had thought she saw a ghost. "What has he done to you?" I asked, feeling the sisterly protection I developed in the last few hours for this girl rise up inside of me. I knew that this 'Angel' or what not was too good to be true. This wasn't a phantom or an Angel…but a demented psychopath that wore a mask. I knew at this moment, the girl's life was in as much danger as mine and Raoul's. "He has done nothing! Forget that name!" That was all the information I needed. I left the apartment and hurriedly ran back to the Opera, to write more notes in my journal. At least a few of the questions were answered. But where did this Erik come from? I knew I'd have to find Nadir if I wanted anymore answers. I was walking in such a fast pace that I bumped into someone unintentionally. "I'm sorry." I looked up to see a man in a trench coat with a magnifying glass. "I should be sorry myself, mademoiselle; I didn't see you. I was wondering if you could point me to the direction of the Opera. I have to meet one Giselle Leroux to help her with the mystery of the Phantom of the Opera."

"It is north of this way and as for Mam. Leroux; you just met her." He seemed shocked to find that I was the person he was to meet. You see, I had written a letter to my friend, Sherlock Holmes to see if he could kindly send an associate of his to Paris to help me with this. I was getting dangerous by the weeks and I swallowed my pride in need of some help. "I am very pleased to meet you," he bowed down "If I may introduce myself; I am Detective Franklin Holmes, the cousin of Sherlock. And the man in the grey suit is my assistant, Doctor Fitzwilliam Baker." Dr. Baker seemed quite the genius. I had been to London before and had read of his work in the paper. He was indeed part of what I needed in order to solve this. To see two of the greatest men in England on my door step right now was the most fascinating experience of my twenty one years.

That night, as I prepped for bed, I had Franklin and Dr. Baker stay in my room, in case the yellow eyes returned to me again. I wore the modest of my nightgowns, since men had never slept in my room before and I was just, well, insecure if you say so yourself. This was getting serious, and I mean that we're talking a very horrific sense of serious. My dagger was recover by the Rue de Scribe by the shores of a lake and my revolver was still locked away in the mystery of it whereabouts. Of course it didn't matter right at the moment, when a mad man was going around killing and may I say turning the poor Vicomte and Christine Daae in what ever he planned to mold them into. I tried to sleep but it was too difficult. All night I would have these dreams of Erik. What did he want from me? He wanted me out and I now knew that if he really did come tonight, he would try to end this war between us, even thought we haven't met. He wasn't much of a people-person. Of course like Nadir Khan, I was the top of his assassination list. He hated me and he wanted me to know it. Or may be he knew I knew. I decided to go to the kitchens then to get a drink of water. I slipped my robe on and didn't even bother pulling my hair back. I lit a candle and followed the safest way to the kitchen…recommended by little Giry. The kitchen was dark and terrifying at night. What was a girl like me to do if she wanted that peek in her career and live to enjoy it? Wait, I thought, if this game of cat chases mouse goes on…may be I could use reverse psychology. Yes, that might work. But how was it going to be done? Erik seemed to have been one to be a very smart man. I took out my notebook and began to write out my plans. _With Holmes and Baker at my side, this plan may just work. The idea, since my comrades aren't aware of it for now since it is almost sunrise, is to capture Erik by using methods of Erik. What did he love more than anything else? Christine Daae. Using her as bait, we could indulge his longings and desires and at the Vicomte's command; BOOM! Erik would be dead and out of my hands. And I could then return home and live my life. And I swear never to embark on a mission like that again. The end of the month comes with fast pace and I need all the help I can ever get. Gaston is busy doing God knows what and I' m on my own without him. This proves that I am weak. I am strong with comrades who could help me along. Without that, I am another weak link to the paper. And I cannot be – will not be – a weak link. Doing so could cost me my life if I don't have a plan. Just writing down these thoughts now is making me wonder if it is worth the trouble of luring the Phantom to him immanent doom. Could it work? Too many questions for me to answer at once, now that I know a little more about our friend Erik, I can only think of what is best for us. And even if it means to force the young lovers from Paris, away from all of this, it would be worth to see those lovers happy. I guess I never loathed the girl…just was annoyed by the girl's derogatory attitude. But the question is will she cooperate? Or would she just go and tell this man? Again only time will tell and here I am, going mad by all this rambling when i, the tiger, should be focusing on it's prey, the deer. Erik is a weakness in the world that has to be locked away. Not in his personal hell, but in a prison so no more people will be harmed in all of this. But I thank the Ghost for ending my short, but dangerous meeting with Buquet. Only God knows what would have happened if the bugger was still around. But…then again, what does one do when you're left with another few weeks and you don't know what to do? I'll die before my reputation is ruined – in fact, I may be dead before my reputation is ruined if that Phantom tries to harm me again. But recently, Philippe has asked me to dinner tomorrow night and asked me to wear my best. Of course that means Franklin and Fitzwilliam will be alone at the opera trying to find clues, but I trust them. What more can I do? Oh well, may be its best if I sleep on this tonight._

Closing my journal, I slipped into bed. As I fell asleep, I had the feeling that I was being watched. I saw no yellow eyes, so it must've meant that he didn't want Holmes and Baker in this, this matter of us being archrivals was between us and only us. I'll find out more about you Erik, you can count on that, I thought as I fell into a fearful sleep.

A/N: Here it is, chapter 6 of _The Witness _and sorry if it was short. Enjoy!


	7. Chapter 7

Not in the position of ever owning Phantom of the Opera. But we do own Giselle Leroux, the supposed witness to the Story of the Phantom and partially the plot.

Chapter 7

I awoke with pain shooting through my skull. I felt a chill run down my spine as I tried to get up. A wave of dizziness told me otherwise. I fell back into bed, practically paralyzed by the pain and fear of whatever was going on. I was only able to turn my head to find another message on the wall written in blood. OH God, I thought as I scanned the room for him. I screamed my wits out when I saw a gruesome sight; there he was, Franklin Holmes, with the lasso around his neck… and his chest gashed opened his blood being the pen this time. I gasped at the sight when I saw Dr. Baker pined to the wall with swords in his pants and sleeve. I jumped out, ignoring the pain and felt his pulse. He was still alive thank goodness.

Carefully, I pulled the swords away from him and pulled him to my bed. Shaking him awake as quickly as I could, I heard him groan in agonizing pain and weakness. "Dr. Baker?" I called. His response was yet another groan. Shaking him again to wake him from his sudden sleepiness, I called once more, but a littler louder than before, "Dr. Baker!" His eyes groggily opened up, looking up with me. I saw the fear in his hazel eyes. He looked about and saw Holmes. "Bloody Hell, what happened," he bellowed for the whole world to hear. "I'd love to know the same damn thing!" Dr. Baker reached for his glasses. He placed them on with whatever dignity he had at the moment and read the message on the wall aloud. _You are warned yet again Ms. Leroux, leave or there will be consequences far direr than what Monsieur Holmes went through. His fate will seem like a tickle compared to the one I have planned for you and Dr. Baker. _

_O.G_

"Do you want some advice Ms. Leroux?" whispered Dr. Baker. I didn't answer. And he knew I wasn't going to answer. "I may just heed his word. If he can do what he had done to Franklin, he is bound to have a far worse fate in store for you. You have two options. You can leave, and die from the shame of working on a job that you couldn't handle. Or, you can stay at the Opera, ignore O.G's warning, continue your ridiculous investigation article, get into more of his affairs from what your letter told us, and pray that he will be merciful upon your damned soul. I rather doubt that love. And so, you can choose now, but I say, you might want to take the first choice and flee. I'll go with you to the Manager's office so you won't feel so foolish."

I didn't need to say a word for he was right. If I left, my career would be over and I would have to rely on Gaston for financial support because being a woman, it is quite hard to find a decent job that doesn't include becoming a maid or a whore. I would then spend the rest of my days locked away; wondering what could have been if I had stayed at the damn Opera. Or I could remain here and end up like so many of the others – dead.

But that's where it was going anyway wasn't it? It would be better if I did die in all of this that I would at least die with the truth out. I turned to Dr. Baker. "As kind as your offer is, I would much rather stay here and fight. I'm not like the others, Dr. Baker. I'm not going to let Erik win just because he is an arrogant fool."

"Do think that this is wise? To say such about a man like him?"

"He can't change what my opinion is about him. I have survived his attacks and yes, I fear him. But I was always taught that running away from my fears won't help me. Besides, he's trying to drive me insane, I've read books about situations like these. Erik has a complex mind from the way he writes his messages. He is trying to scare me away, because like most men, he wouldn't dare kill a woman."

"And if I don't make a stand now, Baker, so many more will die on my behalf because someone didn't do something. I am not afraid to stay here and confront him. And I will not back down no matter how frightening he is. So now, Dr. Baker you have two options. You can run away back to London and sip your tea like the coward you are, as well as embarrass your late comrade with your cowardly actions. Or you could stay here with me, and take that stand and face whatever he has to throw at us. Those are your options if I were you, I'd think about it because there is no way on God's good green earth I am going to leave like a foolish child, scared of the dark. And I refuse to hide under the skirts of my mother. I have said my part, are you in or are you out?"

Dr. Baker looked quite shocked at my statement. I doubt that a man of his standards had ever been spoken to in such a manner. Particularly such a manner coming from a woman, and with that, he left the room, most likely to call the coroner. I turned away from the sickening site and washed up. I changed into a plain maroon outfit with my hair pinned up once more. I jotted a few quick notes in my journal and had a camera crew from the paper snap a few pictures of the corpse and the message. I handed them the letters, with the order to mail them off to my brother, who was residing at Perros for a while. I ran into Dr. Baker later that day. He said nothing and tipped his hat at me. Of course, being impatient to anything at this point, I grabbed him by the sleeve. "I demand that you tell me whether you're staying or fleeing now."

"Ms. Leroux, I am merely getting our belongings."

"Our belongings,"

"Yes, ma'am, so we can go into the hotel rooms I had rented off for us. It's getting too dangerous for you to stay in that squalid room. It smells of blood as well." At that, I hugged Baker with all my might. He was staying. Whether it was to help me or avenge his partner of ten years, I was just grateful that I wouldn't go through this alone any longer.

I turned the corner of the Opera when I collided with another. "I'm terribly sorry." I said as I picked myself up. "No need, Giselle." I looked up to see Philippe. My God, he was so handsome today in his suit. "Hello, Philippe, I haven't seen you for weeks. How have you been?"

"If I must say truth to be told, not as well as I would hope."  
"Why, dear? What ever is wrong?"

"Raoul has been seeing things. Why last night, he said he saw a pair of yellow eyes at the edge of his bed. We found him with a rifle, God in Heaven knows where he obtained it, but he was shooting at nothing. He was babbling about some man named Erik. How he had tried to get at him when he would avenge himself. On his balcony, there was blood. I tried to reason with him, saying he had only seen some stray cat that found its way into his room. He refused to believe me, believing that it was Erik. It's that Daae girl, he's been getting too close to her and she may be driving him to insanity." I paled when he told his story. Erik was taking this too far, and soon, innocent people would become one of his victims. He knew that he was facing the point of no return. It all depended on where he would make his final stand in this – it was obvious that one of us would have to die. I would have to find the Persian though, if I was going to find him, I would need the Persian if this was going to be successful. This war that was ensued between Erik and I would end quite shortly.

A/N: Sorry for the long delay. More updates will be coming soon.


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